


do you think we’ll be happy?

by RainbowBooze



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Post-War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 14:53:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18573760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainbowBooze/pseuds/RainbowBooze
Summary: Coping is already hard enough without her. Is it harder with her?evil!fleur, kind of. blame the fleurmione discord for this





	do you think we’ll be happy?

The tip of the wand pressed against her throat.

Hermione dared to swallow, feeling the wand follow the movement. Her eyes met the once familiar eyes of bygone times and now, she only saw an icy sheet of blue, tired and angry.

Her own wand was in her hand, gripped tightly to the point that Hermione was scared it would break—albeit if she even got the chance to lift it, she was sure it’d be useless anyway, seeing as her attacker only need two words to finish her off. She parted her lips, but no sound came from her throat, no words trailed off her tongue.

Fleur Delacour had disappeared a year after the Battle of Hogwarts, and now she was back with a desire for something that Hermione couldn’t figure out.

The numbness of her brain was shocking, to say the least. Hermione had felt so much fear and guilt in the past year, she expected something life threatening to send her into panic. Her palms were sweaty, but her mind was hyper focused on the woman in front of her as she took in the features that seemed so kind and patient a mere year ago. War does change people, after all.

“You have a little scar at the top of your brow,” Hermione murmured. “That’s new.”

“From the battle,” Fleur lied. Hermione had spent much of her time coping with Fleur after the Battle, following her around to help with healing people or draping dark cloth over the bodies of her once peers. She would know if Fleur had taken a blow to that spot.

“Do lies spill easily for you?” Hermione dared to tread the waters, eyes never wavering, voice never shaking.

“I should have known that something as simple as that would not have slid past you,” Fleur whispered and Hermione let a small smile slip onto her face. “You are too smart.”

“I’ve always thought I was not smart enough, honestly.” Hermione breathed in deeply. “Why?”

Fleur said nothing, only gripping her wand tighter as she did her best to keep her hand steady. She didn’t want to do this, Hermione could tell.

Because if she did, Hermione wouldn’t have seen it coming, wouldn’t have known that she had died.

Fleur was a magnificent witch, one capable of all sorts of magic. From charms, to transfiguration, from potions to divination… Hermione had no doubt that if she wanted to, Fleur would excel at dark magic too. All of that skill in her was grown in her own environment, tended to by the ambitious nature of a young woman with a kind heart. Hermione wasn’t sure if it was just wishful thinking, but she still saw that woman in the Fleur in front of her.

“You follow them blindly,” Fleur scowled, “you put your faith into these people and you don’t even know half of the story.”

Hermione couldn’t argue against that.

“You followed Dumbledore, mourned a man that was nowhere close to who he was truly. A man ready to kill a child, ready to do what it takes without seeking a better solution. You followed Harry, a boy who knew little to nothing of what he was facing, but damn it all, you followed him to the end of it and beyond.” Fleur breathed in deeply, angrily. “You have such good intentions, but even now, I can see them whittling away at you. Kingsley’s manipulation of the Ministry… Can’t you see he’s planning something bigger?”

Hermione thought about it for a short moment. Fleur may be right, but did Hermione have any fight left in her? She spent the past year researching spells, even crafting new ones based around defense and escape. She didn’t care about what the others did anymore—was she really blind to it all?

“I don’t care enough to do anything about it,” Hermione admitted, wincing a little. “I’m all out of energy. I wake up every night from hellish night terrors, everything I used to enjoy is plagued by the war.”

Fleur’s grip slackened and she furrowed her brows in slight confusion.

“Fleur, I don’t care enough. But you do, and I hope you succeed in whatever you’re planning.” Hermione blinked and smiled. “Survivor’s guilt hit me really hard.”

If she cared enough, all of those spells she had crafted would already have been casted silently. She’d be gone the moment the wand was pointed to her throat.

“What happened, ‘Ermione?” The thickening of her accent drew Hermione’s attention back to her, away from the residuals of dark times and back to the soft moments they shared with each other. “Why have you not sought out help?”

That caught Hermione off guard. She expected an explanation, an offer to join her maybe, something… But not that. Not the same kindness that was offered to her at Shell Cottage and onward, not the gentle looks that she always received when things got too hard.

The wand fell away from her as Fleur’s hand dropped to her side. She looked hopeless herself, and still she had much more fire in her than Hermione would ever have.

Wordlessly, she waved her wand and a cabinet opened, small bottles and potions clinking out. Two notebooks, one for the muggle therapist, another for the squib therapist. All of the items settled in the air in front of them, hovering for Fleur to see. Dreamless sleep potion, antidepressants, sleeping pills for when she has to wean off of the potion… Fleur made eye contact past the items and frowned.

“If you didn’t come here to kill me, what is it you’re here for, Fleur?” Hermione asked quietly as the items flew back into the cabinet. “What do you want?”

Fleur said nothing.

Hermione knew what was going to happen, but she wished for Fleur to stay.

When she blinked and parted her lips to speak, Fleur apparated and left Hermione alone to her thoughts and emotions, to her bleeding heart and trembling mind.

* * *

 

“You apparated into my home,” Hermione murmured, knowing that Fleur could hear her.

“You placed a detection ward, but did not fix your previous ward?” Fleur stepped closed to her.

“You’d find a way in anyway,” Hermione said as she glanced behind her. “You found a way in last time.”

“Surely the brightest witch of her age could have tweaked the spell to keep me out,” Fleur hummed, but Hermione only winced at the mention of her title. “Not a fan of that title anymore?”

Fleur’s attitude was different to before. She sounded irate, cold, clipped, cruel. Hermione put the quill down and turned to look at Fleur fully.

She swallowed the lump in her throat when the sight of Fleur almost sent her tumbling back to her past. A dark cloak was placed around her shoulders, pushed back by Fleur’s hands. On the back of Fleur’s right hand was a symbol, seemingly inked in black, yet it shimmered ever so slightly.

A symbol that Hermione had recently been seeing in the paper.

It was a simple crosshair, but Hermione had been keeping tabs on it—each person had a different shimmer, something to identify who they are… Inside and outside of their ranks.

Fleur’s was black with a silver shimmer, and for some reason, Hermione’s stomach dropped.

“You’re committed, aren’t you?” Hermione whispered and Fleur’s hands reached out, gently tipping Hermione’s chin upwards. “What about Bill? Your family, your friends?”

What about me, was what Hermione wanted to ask.

“Bill is freer than he has ever been. I love Bill, as he loves me—just not in the manner that you think.” Fleur’s words were warm, but quickly enough, she snapped back to her previous demeanor. “Ousting me as one of them is forgivable. Ousting him as one…”

She gripped Hermione’s chin and her eyes hardened, icy and steel blue.

“Is a death sentence.”

“I haven’t told anyone about you, so what makes you think I’ll tell them about Bill?”

Fleur tilted her head and let go of Hermione’s chin. “You happen to care too much about me and too little about anyone else.”

Her jaw clenched and Hermione felt anger flare at the declaration. She didn’t care about anyone else? She spent years with Harry and Ron, supporting them in the backline and the front. She spent years fighting a war so future muggleborn and halfbloods would not need to suffer, she spent years—!

“Get out.” Hermione darkly muttered. “Now.”

Fleur arched an eyebrow, but when she looked closer at Hermione, her face morphed slightly. The stone cold wall had fallen, and she carried guilt in her eyes. Hermione wanted to scoff, but she could barely keep her anger inside. Her lips twitched and she breathed in through her nose, closing her eyes and counting to ten.

She was a fool. She could tell the authorities about Fleur—what could they do?—and Fleur wouldn’t be able to bother her, get under her skin. Fleur wouldn’t be able to visit her, Hermione wouldn’t be able to feel that still comforting presence.

“I’m sorry. I overstepped.” Fleur pursed her lips and Hermione had the urge to— “Please, ‘Ermione, forgive me.”

The last sentence was uttered so softly and genuinely. Hermione almost collapsed into Fleur’s arms as the woman kneeled in front of her. Why was Fleur making things so difficult? Why didn’t she just come out and say what she needed, wanted to say?

“Fleur, what do you want from me?” Hermione exasperatedly asked quietly.

“I just—I just need to know that you’re okay,” Fleur managed out, a frown on her face as she ran a hand through blonde locks. A hand reached out and grabbed Hermione’s gently. “I came to say goodbye last time, but now, I need to know you’re okay.”

Hermione let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head as tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. “I’m not okay. I can’t—Nothing is okay!”

Hermione shook in the chair and swallowed. She felt like she was going to explode—her little home of stability was being intruded on by this damned woman—this woman that she felt too much for, that she already admitted to falling for.

A year left her a lot of time to think back.

“You left! You left without saying a damn thing, you disappeared and I thought—I thought we were going to get through this together! You were my best friend from S-Shell Cottage and beyond, you knew how to talk to me just like how I knew how to make you feel comfortable with yourself and then you upped and left!” Hermione scrambled to put her thoughts together, feeling Fleur grip her hand tighter. “My best friend and my heart ran off, and I haven’t been the same. Seeing you here, I still don’t know who you are. I know who the woman who held me as I cried over B-Bellatrix was. I know the woman who helped me tame the wand of the witch who cursed me. I know Fleur Delacour…”

Hermione felt Fleur’s thumb wipe away her tears and she licked her lips.

“Who are you?”

Fleur said nothing once more.

But this time, she stayed until Hermione fell asleep.

And when Hermione roused slightly, she knew that Fleur was the one who carried her to bed, who pulled the blankets over her and who left the dreamless sleep potion on the drawer nearby.

But she didn’t need it that night.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> j, please write nsfw for this and upload, thanks xoxo


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